


Overachievers

by outlier



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln, One Shot, Smut, pretty much pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 18:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12152673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outlier/pseuds/outlier
Summary: Lincoln and Octavia just want their best friends to get along, at least until the wedding. Is that too much to ask?





	Overachievers

“Do you want them to hear you?” Clarke taunted as her hands slid between Lexa’s thighs in unison with Lexa’s moan. The denim of Lexa’s jeans was soft against her palms, and underneath, nothing but heat. She was vaguely aware of Lexa shaking her head no, or really more of the way soft brown hair brushed against the side of her face, before Lexa’s head dipped forward to rest against the door. She slipped open a button and tugged down a zipper to a shiver of excitement, and drew her fingertips against the place where soft skin met the waistband of staid cotton panties.

Clarke didn’t have to paint the picture for her of just what their friends would think if they were caught. It’d already been painted for them, in clichés as laughable as they were predictable.

In one corner: Clarke Griffin, aged 24, art school dropout and reprobate/general crushing disappointment to her widowed mother. See the way her mother uses expensive lawyers to make sure her juvenile record is swept clean. See the way she stews with anger and embarrassment when Clarke quits art school to become a tattoo artist. See the way communication between them breaks down until it’s a seething mass of misunderstandings and resentments that Clarke halfway uses as an excuse for every bad decision she makes.

In the other corner: Lexa Woods, aged 26, high school valedictorian, her pick of academic scholarships from multiple universities, magna cum laude graduate, and top of her law school class. See her ‘never do a single fucking thing wrong in her entire life’ according to Clarke Griffin. See her adoring parents, who share stories of how proud they are of her with their friends at every possible opportunity. See her promising career and exemplary performance reviews, and her precious, twee wardrobe and tortoise-shell glasses that make her look as if someone had called central casting and asked for someone who could play both _better than you_ and _happy to show you how much_.

See them fall into loathing at first sight. See too, their best friends beg them to please just try to get along like fucking adults, for fuck’s sake, at least until after the wedding. Is it really so fucking hard? (Octavia) and Please, Lex. For me? (Lincoln)

See how those same friends might be slightly discombobulated to find that Lexa and Clarke are not, in fact, part of the revolving line of friends carrying boxes up from the moving truck to their newly rented, joint apartment but are instead tucked away in the master bathroom furthering their surprisingly torrid affair.

“Fuck,” Clarke groaned into the skin of Lexa’s back, one hand dipping into wetness as the other slipped under Lexa’s shirt. “You’re so wet for me.”

Suddenly it wasn’t enough. Clarke needed more than tight circles under tight jeans. She brought her hands to Lexa’s waistband and tugged, the fabric sticking to slightly sweaty skin, until she managed to get her jeans down to mid-thigh. It was all she had patience for, that and tugging those sinfully innocent cotton panties down along with them.

“Bend over for me, baby,” she murmured, tugging back on Lexa’s hips. “Just a little.”

Lexa whimpered, a high keening noise that made Clarke’s knees threaten to buckle. She braced her forearms against the back of the door, thrust her hips back, and spread her legs as wide as the jeans still trapped at mid-thigh would let her.

“You look so good,” Clarke heard herself babbling, even as her own warning to stay quiet echoed in her head. “You look so good for me. Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you.”

When Lexa looked over her shoulder, eyes wide and pleading, Clarke had to bite her lip to keep from saying more.

“Clarke,” Lexa said, her voice strangled and needy. “ _Clarke_.”

As much as Clarke couldn’t push down the compulsion to dismantle Lexa, Lexa let her.

Even with the waistband of her jeans digging angry red lines into Lexa’s thighs, Clarke found there still wasn’t as much space as she would have liked. It would have to do, though, because there wasn’t time for perfection. Besides, maybe it was better, cramped and rushed. That way, she could slide two fingers into Lexa, hissing at how tightly they were gripped, and force her mind to focus on the exigencies of the situation instead of the exigencies of the girl. The situation was a bathroom mirror already steaming over from their combined body heat, and the way Lexa moaned, low and guttural, as Clarke filled her. It was Clarke’s fingers slipping messily against Lexa’s clit with one hand as she thrust into her with the other, and the way Clarke couldn’t make herself shut up.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said, because she couldn’t stop herself. Lexa’s head had lolled forward, her shoulders drooping at the pull of it, but her face was turned. Clarke could see teeth digging into a full lower lip and the way her eyes were crinkled shut, and she wanted to kiss her so badly she ached with it. “You feel so good. So hot and tight. Fuck, you’re perfect.” It turned into a litany, her voice ragged and low. _Beautiful perfect beautiful perfect beautiful beautiful_ …

“Clarke,” Lexa moaned, her name echoing off bathroom tile loudly. It would be unmistakable to anyone close enough to hear, what exactly had prompted that moan, and so Clarke cupped her hand over Lexa’s mouth.

“Quiet, Lexa,” she said, conscious of the way her own voice seemed so suddenly loud. Of how everything seemed so loud – the harsh pant of their breath, the sound of her fingers thrusting, so smooth and fast and wet. “They’ll hear. They’ll know. They’ll know what you’re letting me do to you. They’ll know much you like it. I’m going to make you come for me. If you’re not quiet, they’ll hear. They’ll hear you come for me. Do you want that? Do you want them to hear you? You sound so good when you come for me, baby. So good.”

Teeth bit down hard over the knuckle of Clarke’s middle finger as Lexa moaned, as her body clamped down tight and her knees started to give way underneath her, and Clark did her best to hold her upright. They ended up slumping down to the floor, Clarke’s back pressed against the cold porcelain of the bathtub and her wet fingers slipping back between Lexa’s legs to rub light circles against her clit. Lexa bucked against her again, teeth digging into the same spot and Clarke knew she’d have marks. Possibly a bruise, and she hissed at the wonderful pain of it.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, pressing her lips against the sweaty curve of Lexa’s neck. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” She tugged her finger free of Lexa’s teeth and used her grip to turn Lexa’s head to her, nipping at the corner of her mouth. “You’re amazing. You know that, right?”

Lexa laughed breathlessly, tilting her head further to the side so that Clarke could kiss her properly. It was a little messy, a little unfocused, but Clarke wasn’t going to complain.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who should be saying that,” Lexa said, letting her head fall back to rest against Clarke’s shoulder. “I hope they haven’t noticed we’re gone, because I don’t think I can stand up right now.”

“Maybe it’s time to tell them anyway,” Clarke said, hiding her nerves by pressing her lips to the back of Lexa’s neck.

Lexa laughed again, but there was a fondness to it that soothed any incipient hurt. “What? That we don’t hate each other anymore?”

Clarke hummed contentedly. “And that I wooed you with my rakish charm.”

“I think you’ll find it was the other way around.”

“You have been a bad influence,” Clarke agreed, not entirely able to keep a straight face. “Dragging me off for clandestine assignations and leaving our friends to do all of the heavy lifting.”

“Clarke!” Lexa yelped, scandalized. “I did no such thing. You’re the one who…”

Clarke interrupted her with a kiss. “Does it really matter?” she asked, once she felt Lexa was sufficiently diverted.

She could tell from look in Lexa’s eyes that the rebuttal was going to be swift and merciless, which is why it was almost a reprieve when they heard a soft knock at the door.

“Uh, I don’t mean to interrupt,” they heard Lincoln say timidly, “but the new mattress is here and the delivery guys want to set it up. I just… I thought you should know.”

For someone who hadn’t been sure she’d be able to stand only minutes before, Lexa found her feet quickly. “Uh, yeah,” she called out, her voice unnaturally high. “Just a minute. Just let me…”

She was fumbling with her pants, coordination out the window in her panic. Clarke put her hands over Lexa’s, stilling them, and slipped around so they were facing one another.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, kissing Lexa softly even as she tugged her jeans up over her hips. In a reversal of her previous role, she redid the button and rezipped the zipper, putting Lexa back together much more gently than she’d taken her apart. She slid her hand into Lexa’s, giving her fingers a squeeze, and felt an answering squeeze in return. “The thing to do when you get caught doing something you maybe shouldn’t have is to own it,” Clarke said with a grin. “Forget about being embarrassed. Be proud.”

Unconvinced, Lexa rolled her eyes. “You be proud. I’ll be mortified.”

Clarke bit back the reply on the tip of her tongue, that she could never be anything other than proud of Lexa, because honestly. How had the beautiful creature with her hand in Clarke’s made her so fucking sappy?

They opened the door to a slow clap from Octavia and a blush from Lincoln that rivalled Lexa’s own.

“Don’t worry,” Octavia said, clearly amused. “Everybody else is unpacking boxes in the living room.” She paused to regard Clarke with exasperation. “Way to overachieve on the getting along thing.”

Clarke kept hold of Lexa’s hand, well aware that the other girl was on the verge of fleeing a) back into the bathroom; b) from the room; c) from the apartment; or, d) possibly from the entire city altogether. She shrugged, but couldn’t keep that stupid, smug pride out of her voice. “When it comes to overachieving, I learned from the best there is.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Octavia moaned, because she’d known Clarke since they were budding delinquents, and this was a Clarke that had fallen hard and had no intention of getting up anytime soon. A Clarke in love was a Clarke so immediately and thoroughly whipped that sometimes Octavia thought she’d probably forget to breathe on her own if it wasn’t an automatic function. It could be immensely trying from a friendship perspective not to engage in constant and relentless mocking. “You two are going to be so gross. I already know it.”

Lincoln, bless him, just gave them a hopeful thumbs up to go along with his delighted grin.

“Just go be adorable somewhere else,” Octavia said, shooing them away. “And stop having sex in my new apartment. I haven’t even gotten to yet.”

Clarke shrugged cockily and Lexa blushed even harder, and if they hadn’t just been humping like rabbits in her bathroom, Octavia might have hugged them.

“See,” she heard Clarke say as the pair ducked into the hallway. “Just own it.”

“Clarke.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“This is all your fault.”

“I object, your honor. The defendant wore what she knows to be my favorite pair of jeans. Mitigating circumstances.”

Lexa’s laugh was light. “Why are you the prosecution in this little fantasy? Mitigating circumstances is a defense.”

“See, that’s why. I had no defense against you, Madam Attorney. Clearly.”

“This is a disaster,” Octavia moaned, leaning into Lincoln. “That’s going to be the new normal now. Flirting and innuendo and grossness.”

“Yeah,” Lincoln said, picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder to a cascade of shrieks and laughter. “Pretty awesome. Come on, babe. Let’s let them assemble our mattress for us. We have some catching up to do. I can’t believe they broke in our apartment before we did.”

“Right? Fucking overachievers.”

**Author's Note:**

> I almost forgot. I have a [tumblr](http://outlyingoutlier.tumblr.com/) now. Gonna be real honest - I don't know what to do with it (or how), so I'll probably just reblog stuff?


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